


Screw Theory

by trophic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Communication Failure, M/M, Medical Kink, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trophic/pseuds/trophic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney likes it when people call him Dr. McKay in bed. John does it, because it's as close as he can get to fulfilling the medical kink he doesn't know how to ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screw Theory

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Stargate Atlantis Kink Meme. Slightly edited and revised.

It happens the eleventh time they have sex. Actually, John's not even trying to keep track, so it's pathetic that he hasn't lost count yet and the magic's already gone.

He's on the bottom, which is ordinarily not a position he has any problem with, but Rodney has pretty much checked out, like he doesn't even remember who he's fucking. He has his eyes closed, his hands braced on either side of John's chest, and he's going at it in a steady pumping motion with his face screwed up like it's work.

John closes his eyes and suppresses a sigh. It's not a big deal. He's got plenty of fantasies that can see him through. He just wasn't expecting to need them yet.

He cycles through a mental checklist, but he can't quite picture Rodney putting handcuffs on him and he's not going to pretend to be with someone else. That's too close to cheating, and even if this is possibly their last sex ever, there's no way John's going to do that to anyone. A guy's got to have a personal moral code, even if nobody else would ever know.

But there's one fantasy that's easy to slip into. Hell, it's as easy as breathing, even if it has been way too long since he's indulged himself with a partner. It was the one thing Nancy understood about him, the one thing that had always worked for them even when everything else fell apart.

And it's easy to picture with Rodney. Rodney has the perfect attitude, although John's not about to start thinking about whether that's what attracted him in the first place. It's a piece of cake to imagine Rodney ordering nurses around or telling him he needs a thorough examination. A naked examination. One-on-one.

John can't help the way his breath catches at the thought, or the way he pulls his knees a little closer to his chest. In his fantasy Rodney's wearing a lab coat, a stethoscope, and nothing else, and he's explaining in explicit, energetic, Rodney McKay detail just what this exam is going to entail. 

John's going through the specifics in his head -- the chill of the stethoscope's chestpiece, the smell of the latex gloves, because of course Rodney would wear gloves to do what he's about to do -- when Rodney suddenly picks up the pace. John's eyes pop open, but Rodney's head is still down, his eyes screwed shut in concentration.

But it's better now, and John pictures Rodney's hands kneading his balls. John would get hard from it, of course, and he'd be mortified, especially when Rodney -- Dr. McKay -- made a comment on the size of his erection. While inspecting it extremely thoroughly.

"Time to examine your prostate," Dr. McKay would say. John can't help letting out a quiet "fuck" as he pictures fingers sliding into his ass, finding the perfect spot unerringly, and Rodney picks that moment to give him a series of quick, hard thrusts, right there.

"Jesus," John moans. "Fuck, yes. Like that. Just like that, Dr. McKay." And shit, he just said that out loud. He didn't mean to, he really didn't, but he doesn't have time to make excuses because Rodney's eyes fly open and Rodney's cock slams into him and it's so fucking perfect that John comes all over his stomach.

Rodney keeps on pounding him and when John comes back to himself he can hear it, over and over like a litany. "Say it. Oh, God, please John. Just say it one more time."

"Say it?" John manages, because he has no idea, and then he suddenly gets it. "Dr....McKay?" he says, and Rodney flushes and groans and comes inside him.

They lie side by side for awhile afterward. Not talking about it, John dearly hopes, because he can't say it. He can't.

But then Rodney props himself up on one elbow and looks at him. "That was, ah...wow. I mean, how did you know?"

John mentally shuffles the last five minutes in his brain, trying to rearrange everything into Rodney's point of view. And that's when he gets it: Rodney doesn't know. He thinks John was indulging him. Of course, John's teased him often enough about his ego to get why. "Just trying something out," John drawls, and it's an incredible relief to put it all on Rodney. "Figured you'd like it."

"Wow," Rodney says, and he's frighteningly endearing like this, so open and grateful. "That was so hot. Do you think you could, ah, maybe do it again sometime?"

"Sure," John says, like it's easy, but the smile Rodney gives him is totally worth it.

*

Sex after that isn't boring, anyway. John doesn't go overboard with it -- the last thing he wants to do is wear it out. So he rations the words, saving them for when they matter most. Rodney's more focused in bed, though, even when John doesn't say it. He's vibrating with anticipation, and they end up having more sex rather than less, so it's all good.

Except for the fact that John's still got a secret. It's not that he's embarrassed about it -- hell, if Rodney gets off by having his double-PhD ego stroked, John can cop to a little medical kink. It's just that it's never the right time to mention it. What's he going to do, wait until Rodney's deep throating him and then ask for a prostate exam? And it's not like it's any easier to talk about when they're not having sex, because that's when they're usually talking about bad 70s TV shows (seriously, Rodney, _Space 1999?_ ) or what's for lunch or how to solve the latest crisis, and John's calling him McKay without the Dr., thank you very much.

And anyway, if they're both getting off, what's the harm? 

The only real problem is that he's afraid he's going to slip up. Because the more often he says "Dr. McKay" out loud, the easier it gets to slide into that headspace where he thinks Rodney's in on the game. John's pretty good at self-control, but it's distracting to have to keep thinking about not saying stuff, and he's afraid Rodney may notice that, too. So basically, he's a mess. 

The sex is damn good, though.

*

It's easy when John's the one fucking Rodney, because the fantasy slips away then and all John has to do is remember to say, "You're so fucking tight, Dr. McKay," when he gets close.

It's easy when John's giving Rodney head, because then he can't talk with his mouth full, which means he can fantasize about Rodney asking him for semen samples to his heart's content and he usually gets off before Rodney does.

It's not a problem when Rodney's down on him, because Rodney expects a reciprocal blow job later, so John doesn't have to say anything.

It's not too bad when Rodney fucks him from behind, because John can bite the pillow or something and choke out a "Dr. McKay" when he comes and he's good.

Rodney, of course, likes to fuck face to face. And John doesn't protest, because he doesn't want Rodney asking why.

He feels extra naked on his back, stripped bare inside as well as out. Rodney insists on prepping him nice and slow with two fingers, and it's so close to what John wants that he almost breaks. He feels like Rodney can see it in his face, in his flush, in everything, and he wants to confess, wants to beg. He clamps his jaw tight against the words that want out, and Rodney leans in to kiss him, two fingers still inside. John lifts his head off the bed, opening his mouth and sucking on Rodney's tongue, desperate and wanton, his body saying everything his mouth can't.

"Wow," Rodney says, "you're really hot for it tonight, aren't you?" and he sits up, trailing his free hand over John's stomach. It feels almost like being palpated, and John arches up against it.

"Seriously?" Rodney says. "You like that?" And he kneads a little more.

John's panting and leaking on his stomach, right next to Rodney's hand. "Dr. McKay," he says, and it's out before he can rein it in, ration it, hold it back for later. "Please. Fuck me."

"Oh my God," Rodney says, and he's fumbling for a condom, clumsy with eagerness.

Rodney slides in with one long stroke, and John's body opens for it, more than ready. Rodney doesn't give him time to adjust, but John doesn't care. He hooks his ankles on Rodney's shoulders and takes it shamelessly, gasping and moaning. "Fuck yes, give it to me like that, Doc. Just like that."

Rodney's really pounding him, flushed and sweating. John can practically see the stethoscope around his neck, the lab coat on his shoulders.

"Hell, yeah," John babbles, and he barely knows he's saying it out loud. "Gonna be good for you, Doc. Gonna be so good."

"Oh, God," Rodney says. "Oh, God."

They can't keep up a pace like this. John's too close too soon, and somewhere in the back of his head he knows he's too deep in the fantasy, but it's hard to remember why that's a bad thing.

"Doc," he says. "Dr. McKay. Fuck." and he's coming all over himself, striping his stomach all the way to his chest hair.

"God, yes," Rodney gasps, and makes a high-pitched, helpless noise, his hips pistoning three more times before he slows and leans forward, his head hanging down as he pants for breath.

John unhooks his ankles and lowers his legs, then pulls Rodney down onto his chest, not sure what the hell just happened. He didn't say anything incriminating. He's pretty sure of that, but it's all a little hazy. It's kind of hard to think with Rodney's dick still inside him.

Then Rodney lifts his head. "Well," he says, looking more than a little suspicious, "that was different."

Clarity comes back in a rush of adrenaline, but there's still a chance for plausible deniability. Rodney's genius doesn't extend to interpersonal relationships. All John has to do is play dumb. "Yeah," he says. "It was good, though, right?"

"Obviously," Rodney says, and reaches down to hold the condom as he pulls out. "Look, I just need to know what I did right. I mean, it's not that I didn't know what I was doing, I just...ah, tell me?" He grabs a tissue and uses it to tug the condom off, wadding it into a lump on the nightstand. "Because that was fantastic and it would be amazing if we could do it again, only you have to clue me in here because I have no idea what I did."

"You didn't do anything," John says, his heart beating too fast. "Guess we were both just horny."

"No," Rodney says, stretching out next to John and reaching out to play with his come-splattered chest hair. "No, it was more than that." He glances up at John's face and John has to force his expression into something resembling bland confusion. "Seriously, it was...wait. You called me 'Doc.' Not just 'Dr. McKay.'"

John tries not to blanch. "It means the same thing," he says. "Just shorter."

"You call Jennifer that," Rodney says with a frown. "And Carson, I think."

"I wasn't thinking of either of them," John says grumpily. "Jesus, McKay, I was kind of occupied thinking about you."

"As a doctor," Rodney says, and he's watching John's face like he's trying to read an Ancient inscription.

"You _are_ a doctor," John says desperately. "Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD."

But Rodney's hand presses against his collarbone. "Why didn't you say something? All this time I've been assuming you're just bored. But you were, what, role-playing in your head?"

"It's not like that," John says, feeling it all crumble around him. "I don't need it to get off or anything."

"Well, that's good to know."

"It's no big deal," John says, and he's halfway between cranky and panicked, because Rodney _knows_ and he has no idea what's going to happen next.

"Actually," Rodney says thoughtfully, "I think it is."

*

John keeps a wary eye on Rodney for days afterwards. They don't do it all that often because they have other things -- like saving the galaxy -- to keep them busy, and most days there's no point in planning ahead. But then one morning Rodney catches his eye after staff meeting and says, "Beer later?" which is their code for it, and John nods and tries not to hyperventilate.

He spends the day alternately hoping for a crisis (with the number of bad guys in the galaxy, surely one of them will cooperate) and wondering what the hell Rodney's got planned. 

John is dead sure that Rodney's planning something, because he realizes it has to be something of a letdown. All this time Rodney thought John was expressing admiration of his two PhDs, and now he knows it was all a lie. But John really sucks at groveling, so he knows it's going to go badly. 

It's funny how the last time he contemplated ending things with Rodney, he didn't mind quite this much. But he shows up at Rodney's quarters anyway. Might as well get it over with. 

But Rodney's not acting put upon. He opens the door eagerly, waving John inside, and tells him to sit down.

"We need to talk," Rodney says, like it's the best thing ever. "I need to know everything, what you like, what you don't, what the big turn-on is. I mean, I'm not saying I have to feel it, because quite frankly, it's not really my thing, but, see, this is going to be perfect. You scratch my back, and I scratch yours!"

"Whoa," John says, because this is really not what he was expecting at all. "Look, you don't have to do this. I _said._ It was just a stupid thing. It's not like something I, you know, think about."

"Oh," Rodney says, and he sits down on the bed, looking bizarrely crestfallen. "So you don't actually, ah, need anything? You were just indulging me, after all?"

That's when it snaps into focus. Rodney thinks John's been humoring him. That he needs more than John does. Maybe even that John's been laughing about him, in secret. "Look," John says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't mind. I don't really care what you want me to say. If it gets you hot, it's good."

But Rodney just looks hurt and gets up off the bed again. "So I guess we won't be needing this," he says, and picks up a white bundle from the top of his dresser. John barely has time to register that it's a lab coat before Rodney's shoving it into a drawer with an intriguing clinking sound.

"Wait," John says, and damn it, that came out breathy.

Rodney spins around. "Oh, don't tell me."

John can't get any words out. Rodney didn't get the drawer shut properly, and he can still see a corner of white fabric peeking out. 

"Oh my God," Rodney says. "You're impossible. I can't believe you can't even _admit_ it."

"Hey," John says, but Rodney's reaching for the lab coat again and slipping it over his shoulders, and John feels his dick swell in his pants.

"It's a good thing one of us is a genius," Rodney says with a roll of his eyes, and then he's in John's space and kissing him and there's a stethoscope in his pocket, making an indentation in John's chest because John's plastered so tight against him.

"Do you want a whole elaborate thing?" Rodney asks against his mouth. "Because I'm prepared for that. I even got my hands on one of those little rubber hammers."

John feels his ears heat and sticks his tongue into Rodney's mouth to shut him up. But Rodney just sucks on it for awhile and then pulls back.

"That's a yes, right? That's totally a yes."

"Jesus, Rodney," John says, and he doesn't know if it's a protest or an acknowlegement. 

"That's 'Dr. McKay' to you," Rodney says primly. "So, a full physical, then? Hey, we could do it naked!" He says it brightly, like he's proud of himself for thinking of it.

John's about ready to sink through the floor. He's also hard enough to hammer nails. "I don't," he tries, and has to stop to wet his lips. "I don't need that. Not today. You could just, uh, wear the coat. That would work."

"Hmmm, I suppose you're right," Rodney says. "No sense blowing it all in one go. And this way you get the whole anticipation thing. We could make this last weeks!"

"Fuck," John says. " _Dr._ McKay." Because he needs some control here, needs to know this isn't going to be all about him and his screwed-up fantasies.

But Rodney doesn't even seem to notice. "Yes, yes, we'll get to that. Perhaps we should get our clothes off first?" And he starts stripping methodically, shoes and socks and pants.

John just stares for a moment, and then gets to work himself. By the time his clothes are off, Rodney's put the lab coat back on. It should look ridiculous. It does look ridiculous. But Rodney's hard and the stethoscope is around his neck and John doesn't give a damn what it looks like. He drops to his knees and gets his mouth around Rodney's cock and he's there, right where he wants to be.

"Oh, wow," Rodney says. "Oh, God, I knew this was a good idea, even if I did have to pry it out of you with a...oh, jeez...crowbar."

John's not about to answer, not with his mouth full. He just keeps doing what he's doing and he doesn't even have to reach for the fantasy. Somehow the fact that Rodney's willing to do this much for him, cheerfully even, is a turn-on all by itself. He cups Rodney's balls and sucks harder, deeper, willing Rodney to give in and fuck his face.

But Rodney's babbling has gone high-pitched and rapid. "John," he's saying. "Oh, wow, John, that's good, that's really, really amazing, but you have to stop now. You have to, um, I'm not prepared to...listen, if you want anything else, and I mean anything, you'll pull off right now and get on the bed."

There's just enough command in that to make John let go. His lips feel tight and used and he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before obeying. "How do you want me?" he asks, and he's not even trying to make that part of a scene, but Rodney gets a glint in his eye.

"On your back," he says. "Knees up."

John lies down, his dick bobbing against his stomach, and of course when Rodney comes over he has the stethoscope out.

The chestpiece is cool against John's skin, and he has to close his eyes against the sight of Rodney bending over him. He can feel his own heartbeat against the circle of metal. It must sound thunderous to Rodney.

"Hmm," Rodney says, and moves the chestpiece again, brushing it against John's nipple. John feels his cock twitch, completely involuntarily. "Pulse is a bit high. Higher than mine, even. That's impressive."

John doesn't make a sound, just screws his eyes tighter shut.

"I'd better check it in your extremities," Rodney says, and picks up one of John's hands, pressing the stethoscope to his wrist. "Interesting," Rodney says, and the next thing John feels is the cool metal on his cock.

_"Fuck,"_ he says, lifting half off the bed. "Jesus H. Christ, Rodney."

"Now, now," Rodney says, moving the chestpiece up the shaft of John's cock to the sensitive spot just below the head. "You know how to address me properly."

"Dr. McKay," John says helplessly.

"Much better," Rodney says, and pulls back, taking the stethoscope off and leaving it dangling from his neck. "Now I'm going to need you to roll over onto your hands and knees."

It's funny how context changes everything. They've fucked like this plenty of times before, but John can't help it. By the time he has his hands and knees under him, he's desperate enough to beg. Hell, he'd be begging already if Rodney wasn't getting on with it.

"Cough," Rodney says, which is the wrong instruction for what Rodney's about to do, but John doesn't care. He just does what Rodney tells him, and the next thing he feels is a finger up his ass, probing and rubbing and oh, God, he wants to come right now.

"Oh, we're not done yet," Rodney says. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to do a more thorough examination."

"Yeah," John breathes. "Do it. Do it, Dr. McKay."

He hears the tear of a condom wrapper, so he's as ready as he can be when Rodney's cock presses into him, but he's only had one finger so it's a lot to take. But then the stethoscope bumps against his spine and Rodney shoves in hard, and before he can even think of holding back he loses it in a white-hot shock of pleasure, coming all over Rodney's blankets.

"Oh, God," Rodney says, and pumps into him. John's body jerks and clenches, his cock still dribbling as Rodney fucks him through it. John feels taken and indulged and stripped raw, and apparently he's lost all grasp on irony, because when he says, "Damn, you're good," he _means_ it, and he tacks on a "Dr. Rodney McKay, double fucking PhD," for good measure, just to hear the surprised gasp when Rodney comes.


End file.
